Into You Like A Train
by Jaddarso
Summary: When both their luck runs thin, James and Carlos meet in a very awkward and painful situation, and realize that the world they live in is not nearly as fair as they make it out to be, but having one another makes it easier to understand. AU.


**Inspiration and parts of dialogue come directly from Grey's Anatomy, S02E06 with the same title. The rest was just built upon the episode. Some dialogue was matched to fit the characters, so it may be a little different. Mostly AU, except for the breif mention of Logan, which is showverse. I don't own characters from Big Time Rush OR Grey's Anatomy.** **(I know I should make it a crossover but... no.)** **Enjoy and review because I live for reviews. ;) xoxo, JT**

Sirens blaring, lights flashing, screams echoing, blood gushing.

Hospitals were used to things like this. Surgeons, nurses, paramedics; all trained to jump into action, to assess the situation, to talk fast, act fast, think fast. Blue scrubs, hairnets, snapping of gloves, face masks.

And they're ready.

Calm voice, cool composure. It's a good act. That's what they try to emanate, anyways. It's hard though, to stay relaxed without the urgency and the panic and the sharp edge coming out in your voice. Frustrations build up, others become intolerable. But surgeons, nurses and paramedics - they're trained to handle that.

We, on the other hand, are not. After the EMS rolled us out of the ambulance, the sirens weren't so loud anymore. Instead, it was filled by shrill, desperate screaming, terror, and blood. So. Much. Blood. It made me sick. I didn't scream or throw up, even though I felt beyond very nauseous. I just tucked my head the best I could into my neck brace like a turtle, and squeezed my eyes shut tightly.

What exactly causes a train wreck? The train operators, that hold the lives of hundreds of people in their hands. Yet, some are careless enough to cause these accidents. Should some of them even really be considered accidents? If it was on purpose, would it still be called an accident? But in this case, weather was the factor.

I noticed that paramedics were very good with their time. They rush on the scene to help anyone and everyone, they have to drive safely, surgeons and nurses speak lower of them and yet, they don't get much recognition compared to, well, all the other emergency people, whatever they're called, emergency personnel. They're not the doctors that pulled out the blood clot, they're not the ones that saved your burning house, they're not the ones that arrested that rapist everyone's been talking about. They're the middle men. And yet, they're the ones that drove you to the hospital, tended to firemen's burns, pulled out the bullet in the police's thigh, and they still don't get the acknowledgement. Me, well, I'm just a musician, a model. I get recognized with the help of the ones that only get their names in the credits of movies - the make up crew, producers, sound and lighting technicians, prop and set builders, all of them.

Why do paramedics even want to do that job? Maybe they do it because it feels good. The feeling where you know you've helped to save a life today, that another family will be put back together.

But I wouldn't know.

I was wheeled slowly and carefully into the hospital, out from the flashing ambulance. I noticed the pair of arms that were loosely draped around my waist, then noticed that mine were also wrapped around a soft, warm body. I looked up into the sky; the night was dark, air cool, but no one else around me seemed to be paying any attention to that.

The people in the hospital weren't much better than the people outside. They were still screaming, crying, some with masks and ventilators attached to their faces, IVs in their arms, neck braces supporting heads, like me. The screaming, though. I couldn't stand it. My ears hurt, my head hurt, my throat hurt, my arms hurt, it hurt everywhere. And you'd think that I'd be used to it, working in the entertainment industry. My head more than hurt, though; it pounded and screeched and burned and ached more with every sound around me, and the wild cacophony of beeping and buzzing and wailing. I was dizzy.

I was very, very, very dizzy.

There was a dull ache coming from my chest or lower abdomen kind of, but I wasn't sure. I tried to look down, but the brace around my neck restrained me from doing so. When I opted instead to look forward, his face was right in mine. Closer than another man's should be.

I shouldn't say that, I totally support homosexuality. A hundred and ten percent. But let's just say it was a bit too close for my liking.

"Excuse me, doctor?" His rich, melodious voice rang out, startling me for a second.

He had a nice caramel glow to his skin. Latino, I think. And his face wasn't as close as I had originally thought, because he was a lot shorter than me. His forehead reached to about my nose height.

"You shouldn't turn your head. You want to try to move as little as possible," a gentle female voice to my left instructed.

"Okay but - Are you gonna pull this pole out anytime soon?" His hair was black as night, messy, and a little spiky.

"I'm sorry, but we can't do that until we get a picture of what's going on internally - but I assure you we'll work as quickly as possible."

Wait, what pole? And why were we so close together? I tried to move, but a hand stiffened on my back.

"Move as little as possible," the doctor directed me, holding my back firmer. I nodded, and he released his grip on my aching spine. I noticed that the raven-haired boy's eyes were wet, filled to the brim with hot, salty tears, his eyelashes almost dripping with moisture. But no tears were rolling down the side of his cheeks, somehow controlled by a strong mentality.

So apparently, there was a pole in my chest. It went right through. And by right through, I mean it went in and came back out at a downward angle and into the smaller boy. With about a foot and a half sticking out my back, from what I hear from the people buzzing around me. Apparently it went into us pretty evenly, and was preventing us from bleeding out. Lovely.

The surgeon, not the doctor, as we later found out had ordered us an x-ray, because we wouldn't have fit inside the CT machine. How bad was this, really? Because we got to jump in front of everyone else in line. That was nice. It made me feel like some superstar walking on a red carpet, which is quite ironic, really, as the people we got in front of were quite bloodied up.

"Special priorities for two people impaled on a stick, huh?" I said.

The surgeon and the Latino both laughed, maybe with a little more force than intended, as I heard a small strain of pain from the sudden movement in the raven-haired boy's voice.

I guess we were both taking this situation a little more lighthearted than we should have been. After all, who would have even imagined either one of us surviving this? Certainly not me, and I have a metal rod going through my chest. I guess we both decided we would rather make light of the situation that make it feel worse than it already did. It was uncomfortable, and trying to stay positive was already making me feel terribly exhausted.

I heard from my short, fact-bearing friend that pain is psychological. He doesn't think I'm stupid, but he doesn't think I listen to him as he mutters beside me when we used to do homework together. I was always a little doubtful of that, but now I'm certain it's true. Focussing on the spiky hairs of the other boy and thinking of witty jokes seemed to numb the pain. I didn't feel the agony I should've be feeling. I thought I was dying for a little bit, not because of the circumstances, but of the because of the lack of pain. The doctors just said our bodies were in shock.

"What's your name?" His perky voice asked me halfway through the x-raying procedure.

It wasn't all that perky, now that I think about it. It seemed like he was just trying to fool himself into thinking that everything would be okay. And it was working. "James, and you?"

"I'm Carlos. Does it… does it hurt a lot for you?"

I shook my head the best I could, then said it felt like a nasty case of heartburn. Carlos laughed, the slight movement releasing a soft whimper from him. As we were moving from room to room, they asked us if there was anyone we wanted to call. But they already called my family from the ambulance, and his fiancé. They flew together from LA to Seattle.

As I sat there with our arms wrapped around each other for support, a million thoughts began to race through my mind. Not thoughts of much urgency, but instead thoughts of the future. I've never met this man before, but he looked like someone I could get to know a lot better; someone I could get along well with. He was funny, down to earth, clever, and stronger than he looks. A bit of an awkward introduction, yes, but he was a very nice man to meet.

"Where are we going now?" Carlos asked the surgeon pushing our shared bed as it rolled quietly down the brightly lit sterile-scented hallway.

"Into a quiet room, so we can examine the films we took from the x-ray."

"Oh, okay." We turned a corner and passed the waiting room again, earning a few stares from hospital staff. I smiled a bit at their stares that screamed 'holy crap, how are they still alive,' but then realized I was asking myself the same question. As we went down another hallway, Carlos looked up at my chin and giggled a bit to himself. "You have nice pores."

I looked down at his eyes, now filled with suspended tears. "Thank you. And your eyes are lovely."

We chuckled a little, before stopping awkwardly due to the irritating pain of the rod moving the tiniest bit in our chests.

"Oof. It hurts to laugh," I said.

"Then you probably shouldn't," the man wheeling us replied.

"Spoilsport," my companion joked, earning a small smile from the doctor.

I wanted to laugh at that too, but I was still recovering from that last one. So I smiled what I hoped to be a truthful one, because it was. Whatever it was about this guy, he really picked up my mood. I never cracked up that easily. Maybe it was because I had a piece of metal going through my body. Maybe it was how he sounded like a ten year old trapped in a man's body. Or maybe, and this was probably the case; maybe it was because at the back of my mind, I knew it could very well possibly be the last time I ever laughed.

The doctors left us in an empty room for a bit as they looked at the films, so Carlos and I took the time to get to know each other better. After all, we were both face to face, on a stick, like some sort of a human kebab. He wasn't a bit shy, which was good. He told me about his family, his fiancé, his german shepherd, so many other personal things, while trying to clearly steer clear the topic of death. Of course, I told him about my own life, my career, family, friends, all that stuff friends are supposed to know. He asked me weird questions about favourite colours and animals, dinosaurs, fruits, soft drinks, my preferred carbohydrates… He was really making an effort. And we joked a lot. It was hard not to move during each shaky exhale of a good laugh, as we were gradually getting more and more tired, and our backs were both getting sore, but we joked about that, too.

After a while, we both suddenly got extremely tired. Not only exhausted from sitting upright, unmoving all day, but like.. sleepy-tired. I unknowingly dipped my head down a bit making contact with his forehead, which was slightly sticky with a thin layer of sweat. He didn't seem to mind, as he looked like he was ready to drop too. We leaned against each other for support, and through my half-closed eyelids, I saw that he finally let a tear fall with a soft patter. They had wheeled us into another room, and by the looks of it; was where they were going to perform the surgery. We were surrounded by doctors, bright lights, sharp tools, and the overpowering stench of sterility. The lead one, who introduced herself as Dr. Grey was inspecting the metal quietly and with respect for us. Maybe a bit too quietly, but that was okay.

"Can you feel that, Mister Garcia?" she asked as she tapped his knee softly with a rubber tool.

He smiled wryly and replied, "You're a cute doctor. Cute doctors get to call me by my first name."

She smiled, blonde hair in her eyes as she checked her chart. She was quite a cute doctor, I agree, but I was in no mood to hit on her tonight. "Can you feel that, Carlos?"

"Can I feel what?" he replied, confusion filling his eyes. I felt a hard pang in my chest, or maybe that was the metal. No, it definitely was not the metal. It was a pang of sympathy, and it made my mind race faster than it ever had. WIthout my knowing, tears filled up my own eyes, and the babble of medical talk around me slurred into a static-y noise, similar to that of an unclaimed radio station. Oh, god, no. This can't be happening.

I stared into his eyes and watched as his thoughts finally clicked together. "Oh… well… I guess that's a no."

"Okay." The white noise dissipated as I tried to blink my own tears away. "Can you wiggle your toes for me, Mr. Diamond?" I focused my thoughts on my toes, and directed them to move.

"Are they moving?"

"Yes, they are."

"Good. That's good, right?" Of course it was good. I guess I was just nervous. Nervous for myself, but more nervous for Carlos's life.

"That's great," she replied, flashing me a small smile.

"What about me? Are mine moving?" Carlos asked, eyes brightening up, smile ready to burst on his face. The doctor glanced at them, and for one a tenth of a second, I saw her heart sinking, and I could feel my own bubble up to my throat.

But she picked up her act, and said, "They are." I grimaced for a second. I guess he was better off not knowing, because her positive reply brought a genuine smile to his lips.

"Yay me."

I think she tapped a couple more areas on Carlos's legs, but I'm not sure. If she did, I know there was no motion, because I could tell he didn't feel anything, or even know that his legs were being tapped. My heart rose higher up in my windpipe and I started to feel like I was choking, suffocating - like that time Kendall held me underwater for a split second to long. But then he looked at me with his wet, content brown eyes and I relaxed. But not too much, because I wan't allowed to move.

Suddenly, I felt a million questions rush to me. They weren't there before, but it felt like someone had suddenly turned on a tap in my brain and I was starting to drown in them. "Dr. Grey, is it?"

"Yes, yes sir."

"You don't have to call me sir, you can call me James. But Dr. Grey… Carlos and I… Are we going to live through this?"

"Now that's just a negative thing to say, James," the dark-haired boy said, dismayed.

"Sorry. But… doctor?"

She examined at her papers and flipped through the charts. She looked uncertain, like she honestly didn't know. But she couldn't say that to our faces, so she fed us a line straight from the textbook, "Mr. Diamond, we're going to do everything we can."

**Bullshit**.

I looked down at Carlos, the sparkle in his eyes nearly gone, tears welling up more again. We both knew it - this was very, very bad.

* * *

"This is hard, because… you seem to be feeling… your body's in a certain amount of shock, and it's… protecting you from feeling the pain… from feeling… the full extent… of your injuries…" Doctor Grey looked as if she were struggling with her words, and Carlos definitely noticed it too because he piped up.

"Dr. Grey? There's a giant metal pole cutting a path through our insides. I don't know about James here, but I didn't think I was going to be walking out of here anytime soon, so whatever it is, please just say it."

She was definitely taken aback by his sudden boldness, but she took in a deep breath before answering in the saddest, most honest voice I've heard in forever. I guess working in the entertainment industry, no one really speaks with that kind of tone. "In order to operate on Mr. Diamo- James, we have to separate you. In order to do that, we have to move you off the pole."

I widened my eyes. "You can't just pull the pole out of both of us?"

She shook her head. "If we did that, you would both start bleeding very quickly - too quickly. Once the pole is no longer plugging the wounds, the organs will shift and… the damage will likely… be too much to repair." I closed my eyes as my head started to pound. The musky feeling of nausea was overpowering, and I tried the best I could to refrain from gagging audibly. I could hear the strain in Carlos's voice as he confirmed with the doctor our fate.

"So when you move me… I'll die?"

Dr. Grey' mouth strained, she was clearly struggling with words. "We'll do what we can, but-"

No 'but.' I wouldn't take an uncertain, iffy 'but.' He was at least several years younger than me, and he had a poor fiancé and baby german shepherd flying over that wouldn't even get a kiss goodbye. "No, no buts. He's younger, he has more time to live. He has a fiancé, for crying out loud! I've felt the purity ring around his finger, and this kid, he's got a lot of great things ahead of him. If one of us has to go, it should be me."

The doctors looked at each other, all wearing crestfallen faces before Dr. Grey looked me in the eye. "Your injuries are less extensive, James. If we pull the pole from you very slowly and operate around it, we stand a better chance of repairing the damage."

I felt utterly without a way, my mind was at a loss of what to do. All my life, I had been training to put in my best, and having the lesson "if you work hard at something you really want, you'll get it" branded into my brain. Something like this took all that knowledge, all the training, and threw it out the window and off the face of the planet. And there it was, floating around in outer space, never to return with the same effect. Nothing I could do would save him, except for killing myself right then and there. I tried to think of a good response, but all I could think of to say was, "It's not right." Tears were now forming at lightning speed behind the barricade which were my lashes, and I swallowed hard in an attempt keep them back. "It's not fair." A big, hot tear rolled down the right side of my cheek.

Carlos hugged me weakly and gently touched his forehead to the trembling side of my face. "James, ssh. It's not fair either way. The world isn't fair, and I guess I've already used up all my luck."

How could this kid do it? He made the whole situation seem so easy, cracking jokes, keeping tears from falling, even making before death speeches. I nodded into his neck.

"Carlos, we will do absolutely everything we can, but… if there's anyone you want to call, you should do it now," our doctor said, breaking the hug.

After a small pause, Carlos asked her, "Is my - Sammy, she's not here yet?"

The cute blonde shook her head, hair covering her eyes again. "There are delays at the airport… the storm." She frowned a bit and glanced at her chart before looking back at the Latino in the eyes. "We can wait, but the longer we do, the higher the risk of infection for-"

"No, no, this is better. Sammy wouldn't understand… I've had a few hours to, you know, process, but if she saw me… if we were talking, and then-" he gulped. "If she saw me... well I think it would be too hard."

He kind of trailed off, and everyone around us were quiet, waiting for him to finish, but the conclusion never came. He buried his head into my shoulder and I leaned slightly forward. There was so much more to say, but no one in the room could find words, which resulted in a growing awkward silence, broken by doctors and nurses scurrying off with charts and clipboards and pagers beeping.

* * *

Weak. Exhausted. And above all, frightened. We both had a million thoughts running in circles through our minds, but we were both quiet, leaning on each other. He didn't even have the energy to hold his tears back anymore, and instead let them fall and splatter between us on the clean white sheets.

Carlos loosened the grip around my waist and moved so that he was looking right at me, then shifted the best he could to get comfy in the new position. "Can I ask you a question?" I nodded. "Do you… do you believe in heaven?"

I looked straight into his wet chocolate brown eyes and said as earnestly as I could, "I do." His look changed and he glanced downwards at my neck area as he couldn't look down down, per say. I looked behind him at the wall, quizzically. "Don't you?"

"I want to."

I took in a deep breath. "Carlos, I want to say-"

"I know."

I gently pressed my lips to his forehead, hoping to make him feel reassured. His arms tightened around me again, and mine around him. The moment soon ended as he tucked his head back into the comforting crook of my neck, where I felt small teardrops falling and being caught in the absorbent fibres of my pale blue hospital gown. There was a long, wordless moment between us, where I felt all the bravado from earlier had melted away due to fatigue.

Dr. Grey walked in, gloves and mask on, with a yellow poncho-like thing around her front. "This is Dr. Adams, our Anesthesiologist. When you're ready, he's going to put you under," she told us, motioning to the tall middle aged man beside her.

"So it won't hurt?" Carlos asked.

"It won't hurt a bit, except for the little needle pinch in the beginning," Adams said.

"Good. That's good." The once cheery boy took in a shaky breath. "Doctor Grey?"

He looked up from our charts at her. "Hmm?"

"Will you be the one to talk to my Sammy?"

"Yes, I'll be the one."

Carlos nodded, then looked at me. Dr. Adams was just starting to intubate me, and I was already getting a bit drowsy. "Thank you, James." As my head drooped slightly, he kissed the side of my cheek, then pecked my lips ever so slightly. I smiled, and managed to murmur out "No, thank you, Carlos," before a tear slid down my face and my world turned black.


End file.
